Against Time
by sorceress alexandria
Summary: In this AU of "Logan", it is Elena - not Gabriela - who is a nurse from Transigen and on the run with Laura in search of the child's "father"...the Wolverine. Eventual pairing between Logan/OC. A dark slow burn with violence and gore. You have been warned.
1. First Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

I watched _Logan_ on March 2 and I haven't been able to think of anything else. Honestly. I've literally binge-read thousands of words of Wolverine related fanfic and started an _X-Men_ movie marathon just so I can savor Logan's character longer on screen. Hugh Jackman too, of course.

I loved and hated the ending of _Logan_. Hated it because it's such a final goodbye and loved it because it was a perfect ending.

The movie _Logan_ moved me so much that a plot bunny formed by the time I watched it a second time two days later. The plot bunny grew fatter and fatter that it's now pouring out of my fingers in the form of typing words that can't be contained.

After tossing and turning in my sleep, I've decided to write this – _whatever this is!_ Honestly, I have no notes, nothing on what I'm planning to write. Just a sliver of an idea that literally began with:

 _What if it was a late twenties/thirty something nurse that took off with Laura in search of Logan instead? You know, someone still with Latina heritage. Not a stunning beauty, but someone that has certain features that would appeal to Logan even in this Old Man Logan version of him. Someone that's not fiery or challenging like Jean, or a sassy southern drawling Marie, or a mysterious Japanese heiress. Just…someone normal? Normal enough to appeal to this older version of him not looking for a challenge, this older version of him that, I think, is looking for comfort even as he receives it kicking and screaming._

That's where it took off, really.

And so here it is. This is an impulsive start to a story with an ending I'm not sure of yet, but here we go.


	2. Preview

_**PREVIEW ONLY**_

 _ **Author's Note: Excerpt from future chapter. Something to whet the appetite for this slow burn.**_

* * *

 _Elena watches him sleep._

 _It is not a peaceful kind of sleep. He struggles with it, snarls and growls – nearly howls in agony at times – in the grip of rest. His face is lined with pain and a grief so deep she's not sure she can describe it. Her heart aches just watching him sleep._

 _Laura lies on the thin cot on the floor, her small face turned in the direction of her father's violent rest. Elena's eyes lovingly trace her closed eyes, the arch of her eyebrows so like the man on the bed. Her small hands are clenched to her chest, knuckles bloody. The ache in her heart grows._

 _She hovers at the edge of the bed taking in the picture of father and daughter before her. The man's troubled sleeping will eventually wake the child. And it is with this thought that she tentatively bends down, reaching a trembling hand to the broad shoulder covered in a myriad of scars and fresh wounds._

 _Her fingers barely brush his shoulder before his eyes are snapping open and large hands close over her arms, hauling her into the bed with him, his right fist raised with claws only half an inch out and two inches from her neck._

 _Elena stifles a gasp, her eyes darting to Laura on the floor who is still out like a light. His nearly stabbing her had been so quiet compared to the snarling of his sleep._

 _"I…I..." Elena struggles for words. Weeks at the Wolverine's side had not completely stamped away her fear of him. It is her love for Laura that has kept her grounded in the face of that fear - and intimidation._

 _The man above her is breathing heavily, his face twisted in madness. It takes a few breaths for him to reach clarity, hazel eyes blinking rapidly and, for a brief moment, Elena wonders if his eyes actually soften._

 _The moment disintegrates when he rolls away from her, leaving her breathless and staring at the wooden slats of the ceiling._

 _"What the fuck were you doing?" The words are growled low for the benefit of the sleeping child a foot away from the bed._

 _She brings a hand to her throat. Her pulse throbs against her fingers and she wonders if he can hear it – feel it._


	3. Prologue

**_Introduction :_**

 _Born of a Canadian father and Mexican mother, Elena was raised and educated in British Columbia, Canada. After completing her nursing degree she decides to work in her mother's home country, having always wanted to spend more time in Mexico._

 _However, it is there that Elena is lured and imprisoned by Transigen Corporation to become part of a special research pediatric cancer program. It is within Transigen's walls that she becomes Laura's mother in every sense except for blood, discovering the horrors and atrocities committed in the name of science and under the guise of national protection._

 _And it is there, after seven years of this madness, that Elena ultimately decides to escape with Laura in search of the child's "father"…the Wolverine._

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

A woman enters the diner. She is petite, wearing dirt stained jeans and worn sneakers fraying at the edges. The weather is hot and dusty but she wears a thin coat over her slight frame anyway. There are smudges on her cheeks and her lip is split. There is also a shadow of the remnants of a bruise on her right eye.

Holding her left hand is a child whose dark hair is in a wild tangle. There is a clear oddity about the girl, the way her young eyes are both wary and wide eyed, tracking everything she sees. She is dressed in jeans paired with a pale blue hoodie over a beige t-shirt. Like the woman, the child is stained and dirty.

The waitress behind the counter clocks in on the two newcomers and scowls at their filthy appearance. There is contempt in the middle aged woman's eyes, judgement nearly coming out of her pores.

"What d'ya want?" The younger woman turns to the offended waitress who surmises that she looks rather young to be trailing around with a child who is clearly over eight years old. The woman looks no older than twenty four.

"I'm just looking for some food to-go. Can I get a menu, please?"

Her voice lacks any trace of a Mexican accent and sounds American. The waitress's eyes narrows at the pitch black hair tied back in a loose ponytail and blatant Latin complexion. She tosses a menu in their direction.

The waitress watches the young woman scan the menu and then her eyes flicker over to the child who is staring at her unnervingly.

"How old's ya girl?" The child's eyebrows narrow and the waitress is starting to feel strange – intimidated by this scrap of kid.

The young woman looks up from the menu. "She's seven."

"Hmph. Looks older to me."

There is a very clear message in the waitress's rude reply but the woman ignores it and, instead, orders two cheese burgers, fries and four bottles of water.

The woman and child sit at a booth by the window, both silent as the grave while they wait for their food. The diner is empty except for the three of them plus the cook in the back. It wouldn't be busy again until dinner time when the diner began to fill with truckers and tradesmen and some rough necks.

The waitress keeps an eye on them as she closes the cash register.

* * *

"Is she still watching us?" Elena mumbles under her breath in Spanish, turning her face further to the window's view of the expanse of empty highway. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and can feel grease at the ends. It has been a few days since their last bath.

Across from her, Laura nods faintly as if gesturing to the cacti outside.

Elena swallows nervously. She needs to keep herself together. They have not eaten since yesterday morning and it is already almost two in the afternoon. She is dehydrated and running out of options.

"Mama."

The word is faint, a whisper between them. Elena wants to gather the girl in her arms and rock them both back and forth.

"Don't worry, baby," she says instead. Laura is her baby even if she isn't the one who birthed her. She can't even imagine what her actual birth mother went through, can't think of it.

"We're close now. We're almost there."

Laura's eyes are dark pools staring into her, her small nose twitching at the scent of Elena's gathering tears that she blinks back. It is hard to believe the girl is now ten years old. She told the waitress seven because she doesn't want any consistency with anyone they come across.

She has nothing to lose now that it is just her and Laura. She isn't sure what's going to happen to her family and the only solace she can derive from their escape is that her family lives in Canada and beyond the reaches of Transigen.

"Your daddy will help us. I know he will." Her smile is watery at best, devoid of confidence and she knows the child knows it. "I heard he's a good man."

Laura says nothing because there is nothing to say. She has never known her father, doesn't know what that is or what he looks like. The description of father, at best, is marginal. For the Wolverine doesn't even know of Laura's existence, something that Elena keeps shoving at the back of everything else in her mind.

Elena needs to find him.

At the moment she has nothing else to hope for.


	4. Chapter I

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

Laura is buckled in the passenger seat next to her. The window is open a few inches, enough that Elena can smell the heat from inside the vehicle.

Elena glances at the rear view mirror. No one. Nothing for miles and miles. She is becoming more and more paranoid with every inch that Pierce gives her. She hates the man as much as Dr. Rice. She knows he is playing a game of cat and mouse with her - her being the mouse.

Since their escape last week she has been scouring the internet and rumor mill for sightings of the Wolverine. Online message boards have so far been her biggest source but none had proved fruitful. It took two days of wasted time trying not to give into complete exhaustion and insanity when something finally clicked.

A name maybe only a handful of people _alive_ knew.

Maybe less than a handful.

She looked up the name James Howlett.

There were thousands of men named James Howlett in America. But not many who fit the physical description of the Wolverine in subtle ways. Not many who would bear the same birth date, except for the fact that the real James Howlett was born in 1832 in the Canadian Northwest Territories of then British North America - pushing nearly two hundred years old. She knows his regenerative abilities is a factor in his delayed aging but she isn't sure what to expect _now_ , what he would look like, _if_ she's able to find him.

Elena goes on these hunches. She pursues them relentlessly, searching public identification records and nearly sobbed with relief yesterday when she finds one man who bears these subtle similarities. And in Texas of all places.

"Charles is sleepy." Laura says quietly in Spanish.

Elena doesn't know who this "Charles" is that Laura talks to. It began the night they escaped when the child suddenly began to refer to a third person around them. Elena doesn't have time to think about this new development. She's not a psychiatric nurse. She thinks, _maybe_ , Laura has regressed to imaginary friends. She doesn't really know what to think about it.

"You should sleep too." Elena glances at Laura briefly whose eyes are wide open.

The girl has never been talkative. Elena can understand. There are too many terrible and painful memories between them. The surgeries, the blood, the training and the killing.

Too much killing.

What kind of a mother is she? Elena grips the steering wheel tighter. Sometimes she really hates herself. She has to remind herself that they are _both_ victims of Transigen, but her fingers tremble with repressed trauma and guilt.

There is a long stretch of silence in where it's just the empty road before them and the sound of the air conditioner. She hates listening to the radio.

The sound of sniffing catches her attention.

"What is it?"

Laura's face is set in concentration. "Blood."

Elena tries not to hyperventilate. The sun has long set and the road is nearly black in front of her. The terror and panic are there - held at bay. She is terrified for the both of them, for the others that barely escaped and of what would happen if they weren't successful in getting to North Dakota.

Time.

They were running out of it.

"Mama."

She needs to find a motel soon. She doesn't want them sleeping in this beat up car again especially if Laura can smell blood somewhere. The girl's sense of smell can track anything for miles. A wild animal fresh from a kill is not what Elena wants to deal with any time soon.

"Mama." Laura repeats and Elena glances at her, not saying anything. The girl points to her eyes. "Why are you crying?"

Is she crying? Elena blinks and realizes that her eyes are wet and tears are running down her cheeks. She drives with one hand and wipes her face with the other.

"It's nothing." Elena says wearily and catches the tense set of Laura's small shoulders.

"I'll drive."

Elena shakes her head. "What happens if the someone drives by and sees a ten year old girl driving with an adult asleep next to her? I'll be arrested and you'll be taken away from me...and..."

A soft snarl sounds from Laura accompanied by a steady growl. "I won't let them take you."

"If anything happens to us, _if Pierce finds us_ , don't do anything, do you understand? Just run. Let them take me or kill me and you go on and continue to find your father." Elena says with conviction as she stares blindly at the road ahead, ignoring Laura's intense stare. "Find your father and keep running north, do you hear me?"

She doesn't want Laura to kill, to be what Rice and his mad cohorts hope for. She hates the fact that the girl has so much blood on her hands already.

When there is no response from the child, she asks her again.

"Do you understand, Laura?"

A minute ticks by.

"Do. You. Understand?" Elena punctuates each word for effect. The mounting hysteria and stress is getting to her.

A red ball is thrown savagely across the dashboard nearly hitting her in the face.

"NO!"

Elena has had enough of this. She doesn't need Laura's disobedience right now. There's too much at stake. At the risk of losing precious minutes, she slows the car and parks on the side of the road aware of Laura's rebellious stare the entire time.

Once they're parked, she turns and looks at the girl. Her heart wants to soften, recognizing the child as _her_ daughter. But she steels herself instead.

"No is _not_ an option, Laura. You have to listen to me. I love you too much, do you understand that?" Elena's voices waivers even as she tries to form some kind of discipline and understanding into the girl. "Your life means everything to me. If we run into trouble, if you waste _a minute_ trying to save me and get killed in the process then this was all for nothing. _Do you understand?!_ "

In many ways, Laura is mature for a girl of ten. But in many, many ways, she is mentally underdeveloped as a child. She is even physically small for her age. No one would ever guess that she had indestructible metal beneath her skin and razor sharp claws that could cleave a grown man in two.

Elena is breathing harshly. This is probably the first time she has ever raised her voice to Laura but the child needs to understand.

Laura's eyes are still narrowed, her nose scrunched up in a snarl. She, too, is breathing harshly.

It takes another minute or two before the girl calms down, her inhales and exhales slowing to normal and, finally, leaning back against the seat with crossed arms.

Progress, Elena thinks.

She lets out a breath and starts the car again.

* * *

Elena wonders what would have happened if she'd not gone to Mexico.

Not said yes to Dr. Zander Rice who approached her and other nurses in one of Mexico City's hospitals to join a special cancer research program for children. She'd always wanted to make a difference, be a healer of the sick, the poor and unfortunate. Rice had promised genetic research that would end cancer. A cure for cancer, Elena thought back then, was a dream of hers. Of course she couldn't say no.

But that isn't what happened, clearly.

She'd been a twenty three year old, fresh out of nursing school with goals and dreams. She imagined working along side surgeons and emergency doctors. She imagined helping the chronically and terminally ill.

She imagined a lot of things, back then.

Like taking a trip to Baja or Punta Cana with her cousins or falling in love with someone from her mother's home country. Maybe taking her nursing skills to Europe or Asia eventually.

What happened instead was a living nightmare that lasted seven years.

Elena and several other nurses who'd entered the so-called special cancer research program were virtually kept under lock and key along with the children who, they realized quickly, were born living experiments for Rice.

She'd been chosen specifically for Laura to replace her previous nurse, Gabriela, who'd been killed when Laura was three. Apparently for trying to set the children free though Elena hadn't known that back then.

And Pierce. She hated the blond man. He was military man with a method. Calculating and cold and twisted to the soul.

And absolutely obsessed with Elena.

The sound of a train passing by brings Elena out of her brooding and back to the present. She looks down at Laura who is tucked underneath her right arm, head pillowed against her chest, curling into Elena. She gave the girl a bath earlier so she now smells clean, hair only slightly damp. Normal children of ten bathed by themselves. But the children of Transigen had always been bathed by their nurses, always under the surveillance of a camera and never truly alone.

Elena struggles for calm just watching the girl sleep. She needs sleep too but it continues to remain elusive.

So she thinks of the Wolverine instead. James Howeltt. Or Logan, as she knows he was referred to within the circle of his X-Men comrades. Wolverine to the world. James Howlett to his past. And then just simply Logan.

He is a legend. The X-Men are the stuff of legends. They were the symbol of hope for the future and equality for both species.

But that was decades ago.

And then, last year, a terrible devastation.

The death of Professor Xavier, the destruction of his renowned mutant school in Westchester and hundreds of deaths that followed, including several - if not all - of the X-Men within the vicinity.

It was a coup for the present new government that were intolerant of mutants. Extinction was imminent for them, she'd heard. There hasn't been a mutant born in over two decades. She knows Rice is part of that reason she's just not entirely sure how.

On the bedside table, her new cell phone begins to vibrate. The old phone she'd tossed and drove over when they crossed the Mexico border into the States.

"Hello?"

"Hi there!" a cheerful feminine voice greets on the other end. "This is Top City Chauffeurs returnin' yer call!"

For a moment Elena is frozen with shock and anticipation before she scrambles into action. "Hi! Yes. I-I called earlier."

"What tam would ya be needin' the car to pick ya up, honey?" The Texan accent is thick to Elena's ears. She carefully withdraws from Laura who sniffs and snuggles further into the blankets as Elena walks to the edge of the motel's window, curtains drawn against the moonlight.

"I'm looking for a specific driver," Elena says, her other hand clutching the edge of the drapes.

"What's the name?"

The hope and anxiety nearly bursting from her is almost too much.

"James Howlett," Elena breathes out his name.

"Hmmm, lemme check," the woman says on the other end. The seconds are agony for Elena. "Here we go, honey. Oh yes. I know him. Ya sure ya want im' to drive ya? He's a mean old son of a bitch, hon."

The sounds about right, Elena thinks. "Yes. Him. He drove me and my daughter before. He was nice." Elena almost winces the lie. Why would a "mean old son of a bitch" be nice to a mother a daughter? They both know she's lying but the other woman doesn't care one bit.

"Was he now? Cuz he's a bastard when he comes round here for his paycheck."

"Yes. Him. Please have Mr. Howlett pick us up tomorrow." Elena says with conviction.

"It's yer money, darlin." The woman takes down Elena's alias name and phone number with the motel's address scheduled for tomorrow evening at seven.

When Elena puts her phone down she is surprised to see Laura awake and staring at her, sitting up on the bed. Elena approaches the girl with what she hopes is an encouraging smile and reaches down to smooth her hand over the still damp locks.

"Tomorrow." Elena tells her.

She hopes it is him - because if it isn't - then the inches Pierce has given her will eventually turn to nothing. She _needs_ it to be him tomorrow. The waiting may cost them their lives but she's willing to take the risk.

So they wait.


	5. Chapter II

**CHAPTER TWO  
**

* * *

The nightmare chases her even in sleep.

It is the same nightmare she's had for the last ten days.

 _Pierce pressed her up against the wall, barricading her._

 _"Stop resistin', Elley," Pierce whispered harshly against her neck. She twisted away, mewling against the duct tape across her mouth. She hated it when he called her that._

 _"I've been dreamin' of fuckin' you for...I dunno...feels like a hundred years to me."_

 _She shivered in revulsion and squeezed her eyes shut._

 _"Did you know that? I bet you did, Elley. You're a smart girl. You'd know when a man's blood is runnin' hot, wouldn't ya?"_

 _She glared at him fiercly, wanting to scream and rail at him._

 _It had finally come to this. She wasn't surprised. She'd already been nearly out of her mind with anxiety every time he was nearby. She knew he wanted her. She'd felt the beginning of his obsession over a year ago when he was introduced to her as Chief of Security alongside severe looking men - ex military turned mercenaries probably - with Rice._

 _"Now I know you're gonna be a good little girl for me. You've been avoidin' me like the plague for weeks and weeks. It's gotten me all hot n' bothered." Pierce pulled back and flashed a smile devoid of mercy and full of filthy anticipation. "But I do love the chase, Elley. You put up a good one."_

 _She tried to scream but the only sound that came out was a pathetic whimper. His robotic hand fisted the front of her uniform causing the top three buttons to pop open, revealing a plane nude colored bra beneath._

 _"Simple." Pierce leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to the top swell_ _of her cleavage. Tears were sliding down her cheeks and down her neck. "A_ _h, beautiful simplicity."_

 _Elena steeled her soul in preparation. She knew what was going to happen. She knew no one would stop him and she knew trying to fight and claw against him would only result in her death - and then where would Laura be?_

 _With no one.  
_

 _Her little girl would have no one in the world. The lifespan of the other children were at constant peril. Death was always a hairsbreadth away from a mistake because Rice demanded perfection from them._

 _Pierce's good hand wiped away her tears and keeping his eyes steady with hers, he slowly tore off the duct tape from her mouth._

 _"You know it, Elley. You know it as sure as the sun comes up and the moon comes down," Pierce said hotly against her cheek. She could feel cybernetic fingers popping open the rest of the bottoms down her uniform top._

 _Perhaps it was the way her face fell with despair, her dark eyes lifting to his with resignation. She wasn't sure. But_ _Elena knew the moment Pierce saw submission in her eyes because his eyes actually soften.  
_

 _"You're fuckin' mine, you got that?" He peeled back the rest of her top and she watched it fall to the ground. His hand wrapped around her long hair and he pulled so hard that her back arched._

 _"I'll never be yours. Not even after this," she said and didn't even flinch when he raise his good hand to hit her across her cheekbone._

 _She fell to the floor and tasted blood in her mouth._

Elena blinks.

She blinks and remembers it is not a nightmare that chases sleep away from her.

It is a memory.

She gets up from bed quietly, noting that it is just after dawn and Laura is still asleep, and calmly walks to the bathroom where she heaves a few times and finally vomits.

* * *

"I need to go to the store. We need food."

Elena is carefully pulling out a few bills from a bloody envelope. Laura watches her patiently, ignoring the television and its bright flashes from different channels.

"But you need to stay here, okay?" Elena sends Laura a pointed look. "If I don't come back in sixty minutes from the minute I step out this door, you can track me. The store is only a mile away. You can smell me further than a mile so it should be fine."

Laura is giving her a doubtful look - a worried one. "Mama..."

Elena shakes her head. "I'm trusting you to stay here. I'm even leaving the money. You have to guard it with the backpack. I'm just getting food. We need to eat before...before he comes tonight."

She walks over to the full length mirror by the door and checks over her harried appearance. Her lip is still split but the bruise on her cheekbone is almost gone. At least she is now clean from an earlier shower. Her long black hair is left spilling down her back, her last hair tie having broken last night. Her jeans have been washed along with her coat. She studies her golden complexion thankful that she's not pale as a ghost. She hopes she looks as normal as possible and wishes she had oversized sunglasses to hide her gaunt eyes and cheekbone injury. Like this, she looks like a battered wife, she thinks. At least it's a whole lot better than before. She'll just have to make do with this look and hope that no one notices.

Elena readies herself for the outside world, then walks over to Laura. She bends down a little so she is eye level with the girl.

"Promise me," she says, holding out her right pinky.

She taught Laura how to pinky-swear after the child's sixth birthday and the importance of what a promise meant.

The girls's brows narrow.

Sensing her hesitation, Elena takes the child's smaller pinky and wraps it around hers.

"I'm coming back. If I'm not back by the end of sixty minutes, you can track me. You know the new number and I've got my phone with me. Use the motel phone if you need to call me. " Laura's bottom lip trembles a little. Elena smooths the girl's worried brow. "I wish I could take you with me but you need to stay here. Promise me."

She holds Laura's eyes until the girl finally nods minutely.

Inwardly, Elena is relieved. She cannot take Laura with her out in an open public space. The child has barely been exposed to normal society. She can't risk Laura being triggered by something - anything - that could result into multiple brutal deaths.

She wraps Laura in a hug and feels the child's fingers digging into her back almost desperately.

Elena takes a deep breath and releases her. She shoves her phone into her coat pocket with some bills and heads out the door.

* * *

How strange, Elena thinks.

This is probably her first time outside by herself in seven years.

Without Laura too.

Maybe she didn't think this over enough before she left? Her anxiety feels like a second skin and she is very much aware of the slight tremor running up and down her body. She used to be a young, carefree independent woman. Now she is a nervous wreck, barely able to walk down the street without an almost indestructible child walking next to her.

Like Laura, being outside is still strange to her. Driving away from Transigen had been fuelled by pure adrenaline and survival instinct. Elena tightens her fists inside her coat pockets, keeps her head down and continues to walk in the direction of the market, all the while trying not to think about the last time she did such mundane normal errands. She nearly stops to weep at just the thought of it.

She forces herself not to think of the past.

Inside the market Elena does everything with her head down, long hair pulled in front of her to shadow her features. She purposefully turns away from the cameras secured in the corners of the market. She works under autopilot, picking out bread and cheese, more bottles of water, canned meat and fish, beans and granola bars and a few feminine hygiene products. After completing this with efficiency she spots a pink hairband by the cash register and impulsively tosses that in with everything else, thinking of Laura.

With one hand holding a grocery bag, she uses the other to shield her eyes momentarily as she walks away from the market and into the alleyway. Her sixty minutes are almost up, she can almost feel Laura's own anxiety skyrocketing from where she is.

Suddenly, a man staggers into her, knocking a few of her grocery items to the ground. She watches everything spill almost in slow motion and hates the fact that tampons are the first thing that hits the pavement.

The scent of whisky almost burns her lungs and she coughs loudly.

"Get the fuck outta my way."

The words are a deep growl that resonates somewhere deep within Elena. It takes hold of her and renders her nearly speechless. She turns to look at the man but is greeted instead by the sight of a wide muscular chest and broad shoulders covered in an array of old and new scars. He is wearing a worn white tank top stained with blood underneath a black button down shirt rolled up to his sleeves revealing muscular forearms and large calloused hands with bruised knuckles. From the bottom down he is wearing denim jeans, a heavy brown belt and dark boots caked with dirt.

The man moves forward again, nearly shoving her aside and for some insane reason unbeknownst to Elena, she puts a hand against his chest.

"You're bleeding," she blurts out dumbly, staring at her hand on his shirt. His pectoral muscle is solid beneath her palm and she suppresses a rising flinch because there is, indeed, blood along his collar bone.

She thinks maybe the man is as shocked as she is. She is shocked because she's half terrified of him and half in a panic to get back to Laura. Perhaps he is shocked because instead of getting out of his way a strange woman dares to touch him.

Her eyes lift - and lift - climbing from his shoulders to his neck, to the weathered and craggy face beneath a thick head of hair and beard peppered with grey until she stares into hazel eyes beneath arched brows. Eyes that are like nothing she has ever seen. Agonized, haunted eyes - such grief ridden eyes.

 _Tired eyes._

The man visibly shudders when her hand remains on him, whether from revulsion or something else, Elena's not sure. He somehow manages to push her hand away barely touching her, maneuvering his body away from hers.

There is a confusing moment between them, one where she sees his nostrils flare and she tears her eyes away from his, glancing at her watch. She is sure Laura is itching to race out the door and hunt her down.

"Take this," Elena says, hastily removing a handkerchief from her pocket. It is only later, _much_ later, that she realizes she gave a perfect stranger the only token she had from her life before Transigen. But Elena doesn't realize this now and acts automatically thinking to suppress bleeding, to treat a wound. She is, after all, a nurse.

Impulsively she grabs the hand that is closest to her and knows without having to run her hands over his fingers that his knuckles have been broken many times. She places the handkerchief in his palm, closing her fingers over his for half a second before withdrawing.

"Press it against the wound and...and..." Elena can't look this man in the eyes anymore. She doesn't know why she's doing what she is. "The cut doesn't look deep. There's a market around the corner, you can probably find bandages there."

She quickly turns around, grabs her fallen items off the pavement and sprints down the alleyway, not looking back once.

Although if she had turned around, she would have seen the man staring at her retreating form as he pressed her handkerchief against his collarbone, jaw clenched, and face expressionless.


	6. Chapter III

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

A man walks towards the entrance of a hospital with a painful gait. He is tall and broad, bearded and gruff looking. There are no soft edges to his face which is lined and scarred and impossible to pin point his age. He could be anywhere between forty eight to sixty five. The grey hairs certainly make him look older. He wears a crinkled black suit with a white shirt and no tie and an air of violence seems to reek from him. There is an urgent, restless energy about him.

A sense of desperation too.

The man approaches a male nurse outside. They hardly exchange words, but instead exchange cash and a bottle wrapped in a plastic bag between their hands.

The man clutches the bag of pills and once he gets back into his car, tosses them on the passenger seat and then reaches for a bottle, taking a swift drink, grimacing a little as it burns down his throat.

The passenger door suddenly opens in the back and he turns, senses suddenly alert, and sees a blond man step in and sit down rather nonchalantly. He is dressed casually in black with tan aviators shading his eyes and sports a skull tattoo on his neck.

"As I live and breathe... _the Wolverine_ ," he says in a southern drawl and then with insinuation. "And he's a junkie now?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

Logan glares at the blond man, left hand clutching the steering wheel. He can feel the tips of his claws pressing against his knuckles. His blood pressure must be shooting through the roof right now.

"Ya know, you got some buck shot on your door," the blond man says pointedly with a gesture and then grabs a discarded magazine next to him and starts flipping through the pages as if normal. "I heard you was in Phoenix. But then last night some friends of mine in Texas HP called and told me they found three dead chollos on a pull out on fifty four. Not unusual I know...except one was missin' a hand, another one a leg. So they was thinkin' an escaped tiger or Freddy Kruger!"

Logan looks away for a moment, clenches his jaw hard, while the other man continues on in a careless tone. "But neither one of them can drive. One, being _fictional_ , the other being _extinct_. And since the wheel lugs they found belong to a twenty four Chrysler...well this _is_ a twenty four Chrysler..."

Logan considers murdering the blond man, how simple it would be to shut him up.

"She found you yet - _Elena_?" There's an edge to the blond man's voice, a violent one that piques at the woman's name. "See, I'm not lookin' for _you_ , Wolvie. Well, I'm looking for _someone_ that's lookin' for you. She took somethin' of mine when I wasn't lookin'. Somethin' for which I am...responsible. A little mixed Mexican lady. Pretty thing that even an old fox like you wouldn't miss. Has her sights on you now." The man looks at him expectantly, calculatingly. "Does it ring any bells?"

"I don't know any Elena so get the _fuck_ outta my car." Logan is running out of patience with this man.

The man scoffs lightly and then leans forward, moving over, closer to where Logan sits. "Ya know, _I know_ what your hidin' amigo. The old cue ball south of the border?" There is a triumphant gleam in his shaded eyes.

Logan glares at him. It was always a matter of time before Charles ended up as a bargaining chip against him. He'd an anticipated this from the start. He hates that everything always catches up to him, eventually.

"What do you want?" Logan finally asks, resigned but with violence. He is still considering gutting the other man.

A business card is tossed his way.

"A little cooperation."

The man makes as if to leave and then leans over again.

"I'm a fan, by the way."

Logan is disgusted.

Once the door shuts he picks up the card and reads:

Donald Pierce, Chief of Security, Alkali/Transigen.

He is aware of what Transigen is. A medical facility headquartered in Mexico City focused on genetics.

Bullshit a mile away, Logan thinks. Anything with the word Alkali attached to it would be.

Whatever they're doing he wants no part of.

Whoever this woman is, he doesn't want to know.

" _Fuck!_ "

He crushes the card in his hand.

 _"FUCK!"_

He really doesn't need this right now. Doesn't want this. All he wants to do is give Charles the pills and needle and then drink himself into oblivion.

Other people can go to hell.

He takes off with that thought in mind, heading back to the border, back to Charles and Caliban.

On the drive down his mind wanders to the past and the years bleed together. He thinks of the Rocky Mountains, the scent of the cold and the feel of snow beneath him. For the past year he's been breathing in the dry heat of the Tex-Mex border. He's familiar with heat, he's lived many different lives in many different places around the world that it shouldn't really bother him.

But it does bother him. At least, _now_ it does.

He misses the cold of the north, longs to go back crawling into the snow and live with the wild again.

Fuck, I'm getting old, Logan thinks.

He wonders briefly where Victor is in this world that no longer recognizes them. He hasn't seen his half brother in twenty years. Maybe more. He wonders if he, too, is dead.

Bitter resentment accompanies that thought.

He spent one hundred and twenty eight years with Victor before parting ways. They'd killed too much, lived like animals for a time, turned into assassins and fought in each war that came their way. And each war they fought had always been a war proclaiming it would end _all_ wars. But Logan has been in enough battles that he knows that will never be true.

Peace remains elusive as ever. Even now.

What the fuck is the point of all this shit anyway, he thinks for what feels like the millionth time.

What has the culmination of his life come to?

One hundred and twenty eight years of running and then the last sixty nine filled with only glimpses of something resembling happiness and then loss.

So much loss.

* * *

He is back state side the following day, on his way to stock up on booze to numb out yesterday's conversations and bout of insomnia.

 _What a disappointment you are._

Logan hates that Charles can grab him by his soul and step on it as easily as he can give it back to him.

 _Pursuing a career as a cage fighter, hooked on barbiturates -_

He tells himself that he knows those words aren't really Charles's words. They belong to the elderly man suffering from a degenerative brain disease with dementia.

 _You were an animal but we took you in. I gave you a family._

He tells himself that Charles really doesn't mean it. He's confused. He doesn't remember.

But the pain -

Logan needs more alcohol.

Whisky, in particular, is what keeps him going. There is no other pain reliever that works on him given his healing factor even in its reduced state. Pain is something he's used to, but this chronic pain is different. It aches within his bones beneath the infused adamantium and seeps into his blood. He's got a persistent bloody cough to prove it too. It reminds him of symptoms of an outbreak of tuberculosis more than a hundred and fifty years ago.

A long, long time ago now.

He thinks of love and finds an empty vessel in his mind. He has always felt more like an animal walking around in a man's skin than anything else. Love is something he attributes to his devotion to the X-Men, his students, and those stints of relative peace before the storm of his life always caught up. Perhaps the only person that came close was Jean, but she had never become his. She had always been Scott's. His time with Kayla feels like an exhale and his stint with Mariko like a blink. His connection with Marie like water spilling through his fingers.

Breathe out and it's vanished.

Blink and it's all gone.

The women that have come and gone, he doesn't remember. The only friend he has left is Charles and doesn't _want_ to be friends with Caliban. He feels too aged, too pained to go down any road with anyone because there is only pain at the end of all things.

The pain and the hurting.

And the slow poison that is now killing him.

It is with this thought that Logan staggers down the alleyway, his gait unsteady due to a leg injury that has not healed properly. Perhaps it never will. All he knows in this moment is that he needs more whisky. And if they don't have whisky then he'll take whatever's strongest. He needs it to bring him enough relief to see through another night filled with nothing but the emptiness of his heart and the well of grief threatening to consume him with brittle physical pain.

He doesn't see the woman he slams into until the very last second when her bag is spilling its contents to the pavement.

"Get the fuck outta my way."

Normally these kinds of words would typically send anyone scurrying along. But what happens next is probably the strangest and most random act of kindness that he's experienced in over a hundred years.

"You're bleeding," the woman says, her voice so quiet it's almost a whisper.

She's a small thing, really. The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. She's dressed in jeans and a coat that has seen better days. The coat swallows her petite frame, her shoes are fraying and look like they're about to come apart.

But it's her face that stops him from saying cutting words.

There's a fading bruise along her cheekbone and her lip is split at the right corner. Her skin is golden but not exactly tan and despite the color in her skin, she looks exhausted and beaten down. There are deep bags of telling sleepless nights underneath dark eyes veiled with thick lashes that match her long mane of ebony hair. Someone has smacked her around recently too. A look of abuse is stamped on her face. A look of someone clearly on the run from something.

Then she puts her hand, a hand that is small and delicate with the distinct smell of recent blood, on his chest.

He can smell the scent of fresh blood underneath her fingernails.

And something else too.

That something else causes him to tremble a little and he can tell the woman can feel it too. He pushes away from her, that small hand slipping away from him.

"Take this," the woman suddenly says and he is rendered immobile when he feels her _take_ his right hand and shove something soft into his palm. The feel of her fingers grazing his palm is so subtle it brings a blinding ache of brilliance to his pain.

"Press it against the wound and...and...the cut doesn't look deep. There's a market around the corner, you can probably find bandages there."

Then she is gone, all but running down the alleyway and he finds that his hand is automatically reaching to his collarbone where blood has been oozing from all morning, her handkerchief pressed against it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews so far, please keep on reviewing! For those that were asking, yes I intend this to be my version of a novelization of Logan. I'm going to try and remain as faithful to the movie with the parts that I intend to keep same or similar, but there will obviously be deviations and alterations. Where that leads yet, I'm not sure. Remember I'm writing this on nothing but in-the-moment-inspiration and a blank page. This is as much a ride for me as you guys too. It'll start speeding up from here on though. :)


	7. Chapter IV

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

The first thing Laura does when Elena returns to the motel is smell her.

She barely has a second to set down the grocery bag, her phone and spare change before Laura grabs her hand and snifs her palm, deeply.

"Mama?" Laura inhales again, nostrils flaring. "You smell..."

Elena chuckles a little. "Do I smell bad?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"You smell...familiar."

 _Familiar?_ Elena doesn't know what to make of that. "Should I be worried, Laura?"

The girl shakes her head, staring at Elena's hand with an odd expression which Elena eventually decides to ignore.

One thing at a time, she thinks, while removing the items out of the grocery bag. She hands Laura a granola bar and bottled war, two slices of bread and a cut of cheese. The girl is all but shoving it down her mouth, manners be damned. If she can live long enough to see Laura to safety, them _both_ to safety, she'll worry about teaching the child etiquette then.

Elena sits down on a chair by the door, her face turned to the window and releases a deep sigh.

She's trying to remain strong for Laura. She's trying to keep it all together, the memories, the pain, the isolation of Transigen. But it feels as if it's all dangling in front of her like a thread about to break now that she's finally coming down from the high of escape.

"Charles says hello." Laura says between mouthfuls of bread and cheese.

"Tell Charles I say hello." Elena sinks down further into the chair, her thoughts on other things though she doesn't mind humoring the child.

She stares down at the hand she'd placed on the stranger in the alleyway.

When was the last time she'd touched a man willingly?

The last seven years have been filled with the threat of violence and death, focusing solely on the physical health of the children and praying with the other nurses that they'd find a way out of that hell. Anyway out.

And then that night with Pierce.

She's pushed it so far down her mind that the memory is like a bully, resurfacing when she shuts her eyes to sleep.

Don't think about it, Elena breathes in deeply.

Seven years of holding children, her Laura, soothing their emotional aches as best as she could. Seven years of not seeing her family, of not seeing her friends, not hearing a voice from her past.

The internal loneliness is welling up, threatening to choke her from the inside out.

* * *

It is the sound of a vehicle parking outside that has Elena rushing to the window later that evening. She spots Laura immediately in her red coat, no longer playing with her red ball. Instead, the girl is tracking the tall man who steps out of the limo.

Elena's breath is a sharp intake, shocked, when the man comes into view.

This time he is dressed in a worn black suit and white shirt. He is still walking with an unsteady gait and looks just as tired as before. Just as irritable and gruff.

 _The Wolverine._

Elena would have liked to say that her heart was moved, but that isn't true. It feels more like a strange creeping sensation that causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand, a hyper awareness of some-sort along with the stunning realization that the man from befor _e_ was _him_.

She almost lets out a hysterical laugh. No wonder Laura had said she smelled familiar. Of course she would. They would share similar scents. They are feral creatures, after all.

Moving away from the window she opens the door before he can knock.

She sees the moment he recognizes her and somehow still manages to distractedly notice Laura lingering somewhere behind him. Elena sees the edge of her red coat before her gaze is swinging back to his. Those arched brows are pinched downward with narrowed eyes. The gesture is _so like_ Laura that she has to bite her lip from the hysteria that threatens to rise again. Or maybe the correct way to think of it is that Laura is so like him.

" _You -_ "

"I...I need a ride." Elena cuts him off, hoping she sounds firm but is doubtful.

She's not thought through to this part. The part where they finally meet and she tells him that the girl lurking behind him is his daughter via stolen DNA. Oh, and can he please help them escape to Canada? But first they need to get to North Dakota. What a mess this is going to be, she thinks.

The finding the Wolverine part had always been a gamble. She knew that out of the X-Men that died at Westchester last year, he would be one of the only ones to be able to survive such an event. From what Elena knows, the Wolverine is practically immortal.

But as she looks up at him, she gets a terrible sinking feeling that something is very wrong with him _now_.

"I ran into you earlier." His voice is growly and surly and causes her toes to curl in her worn shoes.

"Yeah, what a coincidence, eh?" The minute she lets an "eh" slip out her eyes widen a fraction. This is not the time to be caught out being a fellow Canadian. "I mean - I mean, yeah, what are the odds, right?"

His arched brow climbs higher.

"Look, just tell me where you need to go, lady, and I'll take you there." His jaw clenches briefly as he stares down at her with a closed expression.

"My daughter and I," Elena gestures her head to Laura behind him who remains mute, staring up at her father with the same closed expression he sports now. "We need a ride to North Dakota."

He lets out a sharp laugh filled with disbelief. "Are you fuckin' out of your mind, lady? I don't drive out of state for anyone."

Elena panics when he simply turns around to leave and blurts out the only thing she can think of.

"I'll give you fifty thousand dollars!"

That freezes him, but not for long, as Elena realizes that Laura is in full view in front of him.

Oh god.

"She your daughter?"

"Yes." Elena watches Laura's blank face still staring up at him. It is impossible to figure out what the child is thinking.

He shakes his head, turns back to her. "I can't just take off - "

"Please!" Elena is willing to get down on her knees and beg, but there's too much to say - too much to explain. Where does she begin? How does she start this?

"Look, I don't know what kind of shit you're involved in but I can smell it." His eyes darken suspiciously. "And I want no part of it, you got that? So get someone else to drive you to wherever the fuck you wanna go."

Then he turns, his long strides taking him back to his car and Elena is left almost speechless, grasping at nothing but air.

No.

 **NO.**

She runs to him, passing Laura's bizarrely calm expression, and without thinking and acting out of sheer desperation, she catches up to him and makes to grab him - but instead ends up wrapping her arms around his middle.

For a split second all she can feel is something akin to steel before he whips around furiously, shoving her arms away from him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He looms over her, an incredulous look of rage on his face. "Are you fucking crazy?!"

Elena thinks, yes, I am crazy and I have no pride left. So the word finally spills from her -

" _Wolverine._ "

His face tightens visibly at the word - the name - and he actually backs away from her.

"I know you're the Wolverine! _P-please!_ I - _we_ \- need your help! I...I...there's no one else we can turn to." She knows she is babbling now, but she doesn't care. "My name is Elena. I was a nurse from Transigen in Mexico City. There is a man - _Pierce_ \- who is after us. He wants to kill us. I-I'm begging you, _begging_ , please help us. I can give you twenty thousand dollars now and when we get to North Dakota you can get the rest. _Please_."

"You shouldn't have told me your name," he spits out. "I don't need your shit. Whatever you're involved in is not my fucking problem. I've got plenty of my own."

"My daughter is a mutant!" It comes out as a furious whisper. "Transigen is a cover for mutant experimentation. She was born in the facility along with other children designed to be weapons. She's like you - "

"Shut the fuck up," he growls darkly and steps forward. "I don't give a shit about other mutants. It'd be best for all of us if you forget you saw me and I saw you. _Find someone else_."

What had she expected? Growing up she'd heard stories of him, the Wolverine. He was a hero, an integral part of the force that saved thousands of lives over the course of his life time.

His legacy is a stark contrast to the man who before her, a man nearly past his prime who is cynical and tired.

You were expecting a good man, she thinks to herself.

A good man.

"I know you're still _good_ -"

"You don't know shit about me." This time _he_ touches her, grabbing her by the arms. Elena can feel the bite of his fingers, so very aware of the deadly claws that lurk beneath. She glances backward at Laura who has now moved forward, her little nose twitching, small shoulders tense. She is about to tell him to let her go when he shakes her, hard, her teeth knocking together painfully. "There's nothing _good_ about me, do you understand?"

"L-Let me go. _Laura -_ " she begins in a helpless tone, not knowing how to say that the child close by is prone to deadly rages. She is starting to feel lightheaded.

In his anger he has actually hoisted her up so her feet are dangling. Like this, Elena can almost stare him eye to eye. She is so afraid, afraid for them and of him. She can't help the tears that threaten to spill. She wishes she is stronger than this. But running on empty for so many years has not helped.

"Do you understand?" He is breathing harshly now, not letting her go.

Looking into his eyes does something strange to her. A fleeting feeling of tenderness washes over her and she wants to scrub it away as quickly as it came. Perhaps it is because Laura comes from him, she's not sure.

"But you've done good things," she whispers not knowing that her words are like an anvil around his neck. "I know you've done good things."

Time feels suspended between them, as if they're on the precipice of something.

And then he lets her go like she's burned him. Her knees buckle and she catches herself by the palms on the rough pavement.

 _"Fuck!"_

Elena flinches at the sound of his contained curse. She knows he wants to scream but instead it sounds like a furious whisper. She struggles to stand, wiping her scraped palms against her jeans when she suddenly feels a small hand wrapping around her wrist.

Laura is next to her with a deep frown on her face, brows narrowed, a look of murder on her small face. Elena recognizes that look. She wonders what the girl's first impression of her father. Absently, she think maybe she'll ask her later.

" _Laura -_ "

"You've got your wish," the Wolverine snaps in her direction. "But I'm not taking you today. I'll be back tomorrow - noon. If you're not ready by the time I get back then you better find your own fuckin' way north."

With that, he turns around, leaving her speechless with exhausted elation. It is a minute later that she realizes she is still staring blindly after his car has long screeched out of the motel parking lot, still in disbelief that he said yes.

And with that realization, Elena turns to Laura next to her, gathers her into her arms and finally cries.


	8. Chapter V

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Logan is speeding down the highway.

 _I know you've done good things._

His right hand fumbles for the near-empty bottle of whisky next to him. He takes a quick swig, followed by another _and another_. And then the bottle is empty.

"Fuck!"

He wishes he'd just kept walking away.

I'm a fucking masochist, Logan thinks, furious with himself.

But then that woman had grabbed him and he'd been so shocked by her sheer audacity to actually reach out to him that his claws had almost pierced through. A very human woman of five foot nothing that weighed less than half of him.

 _Elena._

He wishes he'd bought more whisky.

The moment he heard her name, he knew she was trouble. Her and her kid. Both trouble. He thinks of the blond man from the day before, Pierce, and he has to restrain himself from crushing the steering wheel beneath his hands. He has enough on his hands already just dealing with Charles alone. And Caliban too.

Now there is this woman and her child along with a man who is hell bent on finding them. Logan knows, _just knows_ , that Pierce is ex military of some sort with a specific set of skills. He doesn't care. He, himself, is a military man. Pick a war within the last two hundred years and there he is, being shot at by bow and arrow, by cannons, guns, machine guns, artillery, weapons of mass destruction and even nuclear bombs.

He and Charles need to leave soon. He knows time is fickle and is something neither of them have enough of left. He knows this in spades. _The Sunseeker_ is the only option they have left to live out the rest of their days on the open seas.

It would be a fitting place for them to both die, he thinks.

And when the moment finally happens, when Charles Xavier finally takes his last breath, Logan will simply take the one adamantium bullet he has and shoot himself with it.

 _You're waiting for me to die._

There is a burning sensation behind his eyes, something Logan blinks back as Charles's words echo. His friend is only partly right on that account because the brutal truth of it is that _he_ is waiting to die. He wants his turn for oblivion but he owes Charles a debt of gratitude which chains him to his friend, shackles him.

So he waits.

All for fuckin' nothing, Logan thinks.

 _I know you've done good things._

He all but snarls as the woman - Elena's - voice comes back to him.

Logan really doesn't want to think of any good thing right now. Not one good thing. Because the grief is too near, always has been and always will.

But it is too late to back down now. He told the woman he'd be there tomorrow and so he would. There is too much money at stake and he needs it to buy the boat. Fifty thousand dollars is difficult to come by especially these days. He needs the money, _they_ need the money.

He tells himself this is why he's taken on the woman and the girl.

The girl who had barely blinked looking at him throughout his entire confrontation with her mother.

Logan knows there is something odd about that child but didn't think the oddness was due to strangeness, per se, but more of a familiarity. Like finding a book you'd lost and then suddenly stumbling upon it after some time. A kind of out-of-place déjà vu that shouldn't be there.

And as for the mother saying the girl is a mutant, he isn't entirely convinced. The desperation reeking off her mother triggered his heightened olfactory senses to suspect there were lies in her words.

Or, at the very least, the woman is definitely hiding something.

It is with these thoughts in mind that he returns to the abandoned smelting factory over the Tex-Mex border where he continues to brood over his life. He parks the limo outside and slips into his makeshift room ignoring Caliban's nagging upon arrival. He nearly trips over a few empty bottles before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He feels weary and aching and old.

The sight of his dog tags nearby sets his teeth on edge.

He blinks away the memory of a smiling auburn haired teenage girl with a stripe of white in her hair, wearing those very same dog tags around her slender neck and telling him she doesn't want him to go.

Logan kicks the empty bottle closest to his bed. It shatters somewhere in the darkened room.

Marie, too, had been in trouble when he first met her nearly thirty years ago. He had not wanted to help her either.

Where is Marie now?

Dead.

Her Ice-Man husband, Bobby, had been all but ten feet away from her, his features contorted in agony, hands stretched out in her direction as if to warn her. Too late, of course. Because Bobby died too. Both of them dead at the age of forty three because of Charles's terrible, heart breaking accident.

Logan bends down to unlace his boots, kicks them off and lays down.

In the thick of the first wave of devastation, he had been struggling to move. To save his friends, comrades and students. The children. Anybody. And when the dust had settled it had just been the two of them left still breathing, he and Charles. The instinct to survive had kicked in full gear seconds after so he ran and can hardly bear to look back.

"All for fuckin' nothing," he mutters out loud this time.

All the fighting, the wars, the dying and living, all the saving, saving mutant kind, the world - all of it.

In the end it had not been a villain who had destroyed his world.

It had been Charles.

The irony, the sheer irony of it was almost enough to convince him to load the adamantiuim bullet and be done with it all.

He still has time though. Not a lot, but perhaps enough, which is why he didn't give in to suicide immediately. It took a few months but he finally realized what was - is - happening to him.

Logan looks down at his hands; broken fingers and bruised knuckles. There is puss seeping from the chronic scarring where his claws come out.

It seems that he, too, has not escaped Charles's devastation without injury. It was shortly after their escape that he realized he was no longer healing at the rapid rate he normally did. Wounds would not close, flesh would not knit back together. The lines around his face deepened and he began to feel slower, weaker, his bones aching and throbbing too. Then a chronic cough had started; blood tinged with the stain and smell of adamantium silver and he _just knows_.

The smell and taste of poison is something he is all too familiar with except this time he knows he will not survive it.

For that, he doesn't care.

He welcomes it, in fact.

When Logan does finally sleep it feels like blinks and fragments of time. He tosses and turns against the sound of the train outside, against the pain wracking his bones.

And when he wakes up in the morning there is something pressed against his nose, something soft but tainted with the coppery smell of blood. His blood. Something else too, that faint trace of familiarity accompanied by a feminine scent.

Eyes snapping open he stares at the white handkerchief with lace edging tangled in his fingers. It is such a bizarre sight at first that he doesn't know why he has it. The frilly lace edge brings up a nostalgic memory of him as a boy in his childhood Victorian home, staring at the bottom of his mother's lace ballgown as he toddles behind her. If he were to let himself, he might be able to conjure up the memory of her perfume, the feel of her hand brushing back his hair.

He can't even remember the last time he thought of his mother.

Logan stares at Elena's handkerchief and instead of tearing it to shreds as he knows he should, he finds himself folding it into his back pocket, tucked away like a secret.

* * *

"I like those," says Charles as he fiddles around with his plants. Logan knows he is referring to the reading glasses he is wearing.

"They make you look younger." His friend continues on, bald head bent, focused on the greenery. Logan almost laughs. He checks the time on his cell phone. He should have left ten minutes ago but he wanted a few quiet moments with Charles.

"Charles listen," Logan begins patiently. "I gotta go away for a couple of days, okay? I've got a long ride for some good money but when I get back we're gonna get out of here. We're gonna drive down and get ourselves a boat and live out on the ocean."

"Will you be safe there?" Charles has that look again, that aged confused look with an almost childish expression.

Logan tries to smile lightly with some confidence but fails when his eyes run over the old man who is now frail and aged, his arms thin and body bordering on skeletal. When Charles does remember, he eats. When he doesn't, he lays listless and mumbling. Logan gave him the pills earlier and so far he seems okay though sometimes not-all-there.

"Yeah." Logan feels like there is gaping hole in his chest just looking at his friend and then nods. "We'll be safe."

He hears Caliban approach behind, smells the food on the tray. He wants to say a bit more to Charles, to feel a connection again before he takes off but decides against it. They'll have plenty of time once they get on _The Sunseeker_.

"I'll be back in a few days," Logan says to Caliban on his way out.

Once he's outside he takes a deep breath. It is just after dawn and the drive up will be the same as always, hot and tedious. At least watching the sun rise in the morning has a calming effect on him and for a little while he can find reprieve in feeling numb.

He thinks of the fifty thousand dollars waiting for him at the end of this job. He will put up with the woman and her daughter for two, possibly three, days to get the rest of the cash. Mutant or not, human or whatever, he doesn't care anymore. This will be his last job and when he gets back to Charles, he'll start packing up their lives again and be on their away. He'll even do Caliban the favor of trying to get him set up somewhere safely before he and Charles disappear off the face of the earth.

Logan thinks on these things on the drive up, meticulously going over details he never thought he'd ever have to.

* * *

It is earlier than noon when he arrives in the parking lot of the Liberty Motel. He is a few steps away from the door when he smells the acrid scent of fear.

Fear and blood.

He strides forward, the door to the woman's room has been broken into. He pushes it open.

 _Empty._

He inhales sharply at another scent. Tears. His eyes take in the room, tossed furniture, the bed a mess. There are dents in the wall. Signs of a struggle are obvious. Papers are strewn all over the floor. When Logan bends to pick up one of the scraps of papers he freezes momentarily.

A male scent that he identifies immediately - Pierce.

That the woman and her child are gone are one thing. But the evidence of the room's remnants is another telling thing.

He knows that he and Charles need to disappear now. Whoever that woman and her child really are, Logan knows that Pierce has found them and will likely be looking for him now.

 _Them._

"Shit."

He steps out of the room and races back to the limo then speeds all the way back down over the border.


	9. Second Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

I just want to make something clear before I post any more chapters.

To the readers who are PMing me and reviewing the story regarding suggestions and even specific points on how _they_ want me to write _my_ OC, Elena.

I am going to the story that **I** want to tell, the story that **I** am inspired to write. Right from the beginning, _Against Time,_ was always meant to be a story for mature readers. It will be more of an emotional story that is character focused and driven. There will be violence and gore but that is pretty obvious given that this is a story centering around Logan, as well as the content/theme of the Logan movie. The theme of my fanfic here is **realism**. This will not be an action packed, Marvel-style story. I repeat - this will be an emotional in-depth character driven story with adult/trigger/dark themes.

If you don't like what I end up doing with my OC then you don't have to continue reading this story whenever you reach that point of realization. Please also remember that in my first Author's Note I stated specifically that my OC would be **normal** _._ I believe my character portrayal of Elena has been pretty subtle but obvious, that she is suffering from anxiety and a host of other mental traumas having been locked inside a medical facility with children for the last seven years, as well as recently being a rape victim of Donald Pierce.

I'm honestly sorry to disappoint, but if you're expecting Elena to be some kind of badass or having a hidden fighting skill, this is simply **not** going to happen.

So if you're looking for a kick-ass type of OC paired up with Logan in the Logan movie universe then I suggest you stop reading now. Keep looking for a story that fits your ideal or maybe even write one yourself and explore your own unique version of original character development.

Otherwise, please continue reading _Against Time_ , because I am going to continue to write the story I am inspired to.

Thank you,

sorceress alexandria


	10. Chapter VI

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

 ** _Warning:_**

 _Brief explicit scene ahead. May trigger abuse victims. I'd like to remind everyone that this story is rated "M" and that this will be the only time I re-warn of any dark content coming up as I expect those who are reading have already been warned by the "M" rating from the first click and by the theme of the story so far._

* * *

It seems that scrubbing one's skin raw doesn't actually help. Maybe psychologically it does - to some - the idea of grating skin in a methodical manner can be soothing. However, physically, the skin will eventually crack, tear and bleed.

Elena knows she is coping in an unhealthy manner. Because here she is, standing under the scorching hot spray of the shower, feeling like it can't get any hotter, both wanting and needing the burn. She's not stupid, she can identify the signs of mental instability such as the growing urge to tear out her own skin.

After _he_ had left, the Wolverine – or was it James – or Logan? Elena doesn't know how to think of him yet. Oddly enough he is sort of nameless in her mind. When his limo had driven off, Laura's expression had fallen into something neutral and unblinking while Elena had sobbed into her bloody palms.

The pain and the hurting.

It's almost cathartic, Elena thinks

Hot water gets into her eyes and she blinks -

 _Her hands are bound above her head, tied to a pipe. One eye is swollen shut and the other can barely blink at the image of the man working over her, thrusting brutally into her dry flesh. He is holding her up, gripping her hips so hard, those cybernetic fingers digging - breaking._

 _"Fuck, you're one tight bitch, Elley." Pierce groaned into her neck, licking sweat and tears along her neck._

 _When she'd hit the floor earlier he beat her within an inch of her life. He'd done it with a wild excitement in his eyes, tearing off the rest of her clothes like some kind of rabid animal._

 _"You've been so fuckin' good to me, Elley, that I'm gonna give you a present."_

 _No, she'd wanted to say but couldn't. Instead she moaned in agony. He'd taped her mouth shut again after beating her. It seemed that he liked hearing her cry out in pain but didn't want to hear her cry out in violation._

 _And she'd been so close to slipping into unconsciousness too._

 _Pierce changed the angle of his thrust, his blue eyes staring down at her horrified face with an intensity that caused bile to rise within her. But then something happened – something else. A new form of pain, something far worse than his violation of her body._

 _Like a flick of a switch, she suddenly orgasmed._

Elena blinks again and looks down at the purple bruises still marring her hips and rib cage. Her skin looks almost seared from the shower's heat.

She **hates** Pierce.

Certain things are bubbling up over the boiling surface of her emotions. Shame, for instance, is one that is surfacing, threatening her sanity.

Whatever's left of it, anyway.

She is medically trained. She has studied biology and bit of psychology. She knows she is a rape victim amongst a host of other things. She used to heal those victims in the hospital from her life before Transigen. Elena knows what is happening to her, what she is suffering. She knows she will have to live the rest of her life with what happened to her.

But, all the same, she hates that Pierce forced her body to a near mindless feeling of pleasure so intense she'd passed out after.

I am going crazy, Elena thinks while staring at her water stained, wrinkled fingers.

Running on autopilot for so long has its consequences. Acts of desperation too.

Like voluntarily touching the Wolverine.

She'd been terrified the entire time, the wrath on his face and rage in his eyes. Then he'd almost crushed her shoulders when he lifted her up to shake her.

Elena is trembling from the memory of it. She trembles at the phantom touch of his deadly hands on her arms. The way he'd looked at her.

There is a strange tingling sensation that blooms from between her legs and she struggles to contain her scream of helpless frustration.

Sick. Just sick.

Elena cries in the shower, not understanding why her body is feeling this way, and the shame boils over.

I'm fucked up, she thinks.

Perhaps it is the years of confinement that has her body spiraling out of control. She doesn't know. Too many years spent sleeping next to a child or in the nurse's quarters with other lonely, terrified women. Intimacy and pleasure had been something like a dream, a figment from her past. Something she barely thought of because when she did, she dissolved into grief.

The last time she'd had sex was with a nice Mexican man she'd met and had just begun dating after her arrival in town. Jorje, had been his name. That last time before - _before Pierce_ \- had been slow and shy. She wasn't very experienced to begin with but Jorje seemed to know how to deal with her nervousness and the result had rewarded them both with something akin to tenderness.

Sex with someone you cared about, someone you _chose_ , is what Elena's moral code had been brought up with. It is what she is familiar with.

No longer, it seems.

It's not your fault, she reminds herself, eyes closed and breathing in the shower's hot steam.

She decides to stop thinking about it, to close that part of her mind again. Put a lid on the boiling pot of memories bubbling over.

So she runs on autopilot again, something that is both familiar and comforting. She eventually exits the shower, dries her hair, eyes only grazing over healing wounds and bruises - bite marks along her breasts - and combs her long hair.

I am fine, she thinks.

I am fine. fine. _fine. fine. fine_ \- -

Somewhere over the Tex-Mex border, in the pitch black of night, a tear slides down Charles Xavier's wrinkled cheek.

"Poor girl," he whispers to no one in particular.

* * *

When Elena finally crawls into bed next to Laura it is past three in the morning. She gathers the sleeping girl in her arms and this time it is she, the adult, gripping the child desperately like a lifeline.

Laura is her anchor.

But she still struggles to sleep because her eyes are trained on the clock. Only a few more hours before they're out of here. Finally. She comforts herself by thinking of the girl's father as their means of safety and escape - nothing else beyond that.

The moment her eyes shut and sleep overtakes her, Laura's open. The girl's eyes are bright and glazed with tears. None fall but there is a dawn of understanding in those dark, young eyes.

* * *

Elena is awakened by Laura who is white faced, mouth set in a tight line. Her eyes immediately glance at the clock.

10:02 a.m.

She can't remember the last time she'd slept in so late.

"He's coming."

At first, Elena thinks of the Wolverine but receives a dawning suspicion of horror at Laura's pale expression.

"...Pierce?"

The child nods, sniffing the air. "He's close."

Elena weighs her options but there is only one option, really.

"Listen to me," Elena grabs Laura, hauling the girl in front of her. "You have to hide. Hide and wait for your father to come back at noon."

But the child is already shaking her head and Elena wants to scream.

"Laura, remember what you promised me?" She is banking on the fact that Laura understands that promises are meant to be kept. At least the concept of it.

Laura begins to growl but Elena has dealt with tantrums before, even the child's violent ones.

"If you don't hide and Pierce finds us together then we're both as good as dead!" She hates raising her voice, especially to Laura. She's normally a very soft spoken person.

"Charles says he'll help us!" Elena's eyes widen at the sudden outburst. "He says we should hide together."

She is incredulous, looking at the girl. "Laura, this is not a game - "

"Mama," the word is a growl coming from the child. "Please! Charles - "

Elena has just about had it with this "Charles" and is going to tell Laura just so. Their lives are in danger.

"Charles says we need to hide until...until _he_ gets here!"

Of course Laura doesn't know what to call the Wolverine. Elena has been the only one to ever refer to him as the girl's "father". But Laura is old enough and smart enough to be hesitant about it, having never had a father figure in her life. To this day, Elena's not even really sure if the girl knows that _she's_ not her biological mother. She likes to believe Laura already knows.

Don't think of that now, Elena shoves those thoughts away.

"W-What do you mean?" Elena is going to give Laura less than a minute to explain before she drags the girl away to a safe corner.

And so Elena listens, with a horrific kind of comprehension, that this "Charles" is an actual person who has been speaking to Laura telepathically. He is, in fact, an elderly mutant named -

Charles Xavier.

Elena is shocked.

The shock doesn't wear off, it is simply put on hold.

Laura's details are so specific that Elena has no choice but to believe her. And if this is really Professor Charles Xavier then the Wolverine - _Logan -_ the old telepath must know the truth of who and what the girl really is.

She listens to Laura's instructions, throwing away the old plan of sacrificing herself in order to hide Laura and taking the thread of hope tossed in their direction. She packs their one backpack quickly, takes Laura's hand and runs to the reception desk on the other side of the property. She tells the red haired woman manager at the desk that she and her daughter are checking out. The woman glares at them but asks nosily if they're going home to which Elena replies yes, to California, in fact.

What they do instead is probably one of the most anxiety-ridden moments of Elena's life.

They hide within plain sight of the Reavers who come like clockwork thirty minutes after and Elena has to suffer hearing Pierce's voice as he harasses the red haired woman in the parking lot, eventually signaling his men to break down her motel door. All the while they are across the street sitting on a bench facing the opposite direction as if they're waiting for the next bus. Laura is lying across the bench with her head in her lap, like any tired child snuggling against a parent after a day in the park. From this vantage point, one could only see a woman and an overweight man sitting at the bench's edge. A few people are milling about waiting for the bus and, for the most part, no one turns around to see the commotion going on at the shady motel across the street.

It feels like an eternity but she eventually hears the Reavers leave.

The time it takes for Elena's body to start moving again after having been frozen to the bench feels even longer.

When they spot Logan's limo drive up, Elena struggles not to tear down the street with Laura. But Charles was specific with his instructions. There is no time for explanation and the Wolverine would be demanding them which would put them in further danger of lost time and possibly their lives.

When he exits the limo they break into the trunk using Laura's claws. Elena tosses the girl in and then climbs in after.

She knows what he will find in the motel, what conclusions he may come to. In the darkness, they hear his harried steps and the shutting of the driver's door and then they are off, together, unbeknownst to him.

* * *

 **Author's Note: ** A few things to explain - the blood and tears that Logan smells in the previous chapter is old blood from Elena's wounds and crying. Also, the messed up room he sees when he gets to the motel are from Pierce and his men ransacking it after Laura and Elena hide but before Logan arrives.

I'm going to reiterate what I wrote in response to a reviewer \- that I'd received enough PM's and a few random reviews where I felt that some readers had certain expectations for my OC that I would ultimately be unable to satisfy. I can understand the demand for more Logan centric fanfics right after seeing the movie, this story is evidence of what happened after I watched it. I realized no one would write the story I had circulating in my mind so I decided to write it myself and this is how I am able to satisfy my search/expectations after realizing it could take months before a decently written Logan fanfic finally comes around.

So I just wanted to make things clear to avoid disappointment that Elena will not turn out to be some type of skilled fighter resembling a super heroine. I don't want to venture into Mary Sue territory and am trying to avoid that as much as possible - hence the realism factor which include various traumas such as post traumatic stress disorder, anxiety and depression, rape and suicide. Those are all very real issues in the world we live in. It would be nice to have super powers and be super strong to fend off bad guys, but that's not the real world. Even though this is just a fanfic based on a "realistic" super hero movie, I want the characters to be relatable to myself and the readers as much as possible. If I can achieve that then I'm a happy writer! :)


	11. Chapter VII

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

Logan tears down the highway burning rubber. Sometimes driving can be numbing but when he is this apprehensive about something ghosts from his past surface.

Memories.

This time it is Japan and he can almost see Yukio in front of him.

 _"You're a soldier and you seek what all soldiers do."_

 _"And what's that?"_

 _"An honorable death." There is certainty in Yukio's tone._

 _Logan is doubtful. "Who says I'm in pain?"_

 _"A man who has nightmares every night of his life is in pain."_

He finds himself already back at the plant, flinging open the front gate when he blinks away that particular memory, out of the limo and unlatching the fence. Tension is building somewhere behind his eyes, maybe in his skull. _Panic_. He is trying hard not to.

He thinks again that he should never have said yes to the woman and her plea for help. Trouble.

Just like Mariko.

 _When I was a little girl, I had nightmares. I'd wake up and run to my parents. My father would get angry. "Go back to bed. Face your fears." My grandfather was different. He told me stories about Kuzuri, his friend. Who he met at the bottom of a well. He said the Kuzuri was magical and saved his life. He said Kuzuri would save me, too, as I slept in my bed._

She'd said it with such wonder too. Kuzuri.

Always trouble. Every time.

He isn't a magical creature. There was no magic happening when his mother had an affair with his father. There was no magic when he killed him either. In fact, he'd killed more than he'd saved people's lives.

"Logan, what happened?"

Caliban is rounding the corner covered head to toe in his standard linen colored poncho and wraparound black sunglasses. Logan can hear the suspicion in his question. Caliban has always been an anxious worrywart.

"Did something go wrong?"

"Job was wrong," he mutters, pulling open the door and storming inside. He puts a lid on his dark brooding, on the memories. He needs to pack up Charles and run. He is halfway down the hall mess when -

"Logan!"

He ignores him, mentally ticking off items he and Charles will need.

"LOGAN!"

It is the panic in Caliban's tone that has him striding back and shoving the door open, growling irritably.

" _What_ -"

He sees it immediately.

The trunk of his limo, wide open. The red ball that Caliban holds to his nose, sniffing. The green backpack dangling from his white gloved fingers.

What the fuck, he thinks, and strides forward to grab those very items out of Caliban's hands and stares at them perplexedly. There a brief confusion between the two mutants at what they are looking at. The items are so out of place that neither of them know what to think and then -

"Whose that?" Caliban's voice is muffled against the thick bandanna covering a good portion of his face.

Logan turns his gaze to the entry gate, sees a truck approaching. He already knows who it is from where he stands.

"I thought you were supposed to see shit coming," he says to Caliban with accusation.

"I can track mutants," Caliban replies, then sarcastically adds. "I'm a glorified truffle pig not a clairvoyant."

There is no time for argumentative banter. His muscles are tense, body tight with tension. The objects in his hands become some sort of dead weight to him.

"Go inside and keep Charles quiet," Logan orders Caliban. There is a fraction of hesitation from the other mutant. The truck is almost in front of them. "Go inside, now!"

Caliban is already scurrying out of sight when the truck door opens and Donald Pierce steps out.

"You need to turn around, asshole, this is private property." Logan tells the blond man approaching.

Pierce saunters forward, hands behind his back and casually observes the property. "Yes, it is. In fact, I believe it belongs to a multinational company based in Shanghai."

Ignoring Logan's murderous expression he passes him, clocking in on the collapsed tank. "Where you keepin' the old man, hm? Is he over there?" He lowers his shades a fraction, eyeing it. "Or is he _there_? That'd be smart. I'd like to meet him."

There are brief flashes of memories in Logan's mind again and he hates it. Hates that this time they are the ones where he's inevitably found and captured. He's lived this situation many times.

"I'm told the HSA classifies his brain as a weapon of mass destruction now. Damn shame what happened back East." Pierce says almost regretfully.

"He's been dead for a year." Logan is working on controlling the climbing rage, the panic building underneath his chest. Panic for Charles. His friend is his only anchor in this world.

But then Pierce levels him with a look, an indulgently insistent one.

"I need the girl."

" _What_ girl?"

"The one that goes along with that ball you're holdin'." Pierce gestures to the items Logan clutches in his hands.

"There's no girl here." In this, Logan is being honest. He's not seen the girl since the previous night.

"I know you went the motel."

"I was called there." He is a driver, he can be called by anyone. "There was no girl. There was _no one_ there."

"No one, hm?" There is a tension emanating off of Pierce that sets Logan on edge. "Not even a _woman_?"

It is clear that Pierce doesn't believe him and that has Logan grinding down hard on his jaw. The man is on the hunt and will not stop until he finds his prey. Logan can understand. He, too, is a hunter.

A scent hits him and his nostrils flare when the blond man inches closer.

A scent he is all too familiar with.

Blood lust.

"So, Elena got a hold of you then, didn't she, Logan? But you didn't call me. That hurts." Pierce stands before him now. They are nearly eye to eye and the stench emanating off of the blond man is starting to grate on his nerves. Pierce's golden tooth glints against the sun. "You don't happen to know where she is, do you?"

"No," Logan replies steadily, eyes narrowing. "Do _you_?"

"I asked you first." Pierce grins as if in good humor, wagging a black gloved finger before suddenly sobering. "I wish you'd called me, Logan. Like I'd asked."

He lays his hand, the cybernetic one, on Logan's shoulder to which Logan roughly shoves away, gripping the mechanical wrist. The fingers wave at him while Pierce simply smiles.

"See." The fingers continue to wave. "You're not the only one whose been enhanced."

Logan decides now is a good time to gut him and leave him for the vultures when suddenly -

There is a savage cry from somewhere to his left.

A steel pipe connects with Pierce's temple and the man collapses before him, knocked out cold.

Logan hardly has a second before another pipe is thrown his way. He catches it, but barely. The red ball is out of his hand and rolling away somewhere.

 _"Laura!"_

It is with some shock that Logan sees the the woman running after the girl who has just knocked out Pierce with a steel pipe.

Elena.

She is running from behind a stack of old equipment, black hair streaming behind her like a flag. There is a desperate expression on her face as she reaches the girl who is standing with defiance in her dark eyes that are staring at Logan fiercely.

A snarl is building in his throat and he moves forward, realizing what has taken place unbeknownst to him. The red ball. The green back pack. The insistence in Pierce's tone. He is so mad he could wring the girl's neck and thinks maybe he should, but then Charles is wheeling out into the open and Logan's first thought is to order him back inside and it is the expression of joy on the old man's face that stops him.

"Logan, Logan!" Charles is exuberant. "This is Laura and Elena! Caliban, come!"

Elena crouches next to the girl, turns her and shakes her shoulders. A string of Spanish is fairly exploding from the woman clearly berating the child who is still staring daggers at Logan. His claws are itching to punch through. He is still in disbelief that they managed to stowaway in his car without him noticing.

Caliban appears at the doorway adjusting his bandanna over his face as Charles points in the woman and girls' direction. "This is who I've been telling you about. This is Laura. We've been waiting for you and your mother."

 _He told me last night he's communicating with someone._

Caliban's recent words come back to him and Logan feels like he's fallen into a rabbit hole. He shouldn't be surprised, but he is. He really is.

Elena finally releases the girl and wipes her eyes, frustration and anxiety on her face, shaking her head. The girl moves forward in Logan's direction, still eyeing him. Charles is still jubilant and starts to sputter out heavily accented broken Spanish, motioning the two to join him.

Logan has yet to break eye contact with the girl who comes forward hesitantly, then spotting the backpack clutched in his hand, strides towards him and all but yanks it from him. Still with the glare in her eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck stand and he is starting to feel strange looking at that small face. The dark eyes narrowed up at him.

He is aware of Elena moving forward, can spot the shaking in her fingers from where he is. Her eyes are glued to Pierce's prone body. He is just about to go to her, fire in his eyes, but Laura runs back to her mother, takes her hand and drags the shaking woman to Charles only stopping to pick up the red ball in the sand.

"Come, come!" Charles beams at them. "It's okay! It's okay. You can stay here. It's safe!"

Safe my ass, Logan thinks, as he watches the three of them disappear inside. The sound of Charles's excited Spanish babbling fades once the door shuts.

He will deal with them later. The woman and the girl. And Charles. He has no intention of letting those two females screw all of them over. Time is running out.

As Caliban approaches Logan turns to kick Pierce over. The man is still unconscious.

Next to him, Caliban lowers his sunglasses. "Looks like ex military. Bounty hunter, maybe?"

"Worse." Logan has already reached into his pocket and is holding out Pierce's card to Caliban.

"Is he by himself?"

"Yeah, but not for long." Logan's eyes are scoping out the area around them, paranoia skyrocketing. He bends down and takes Pierce's gun which he holds out to Caliban. "Get him back to his ride, take him out to the wash and dump him."

They need to be quick. He knows there are men behind Pierce, perhaps even close by. He's lived this before, after all. There are _always_ more men somewhere along the horizon. An invisible net is closing in around him and he almost feels suffocated.

The other mutant's eyes are wide underneath the large hat he wears. "What happens if he wakes up?

Logan gives Pierce's side a firm kick, hears a rib crack and hands Caliban the gun. "Text me where you are and we'll pick you up."

He leaves Caliban to it and makes his way back inside.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A few things to explain - the events in Japan happened in this reality. I'm aware that X-Men: Days of Future Past conveniently erased Jean's death (plus Scott's) and the Sentinal age _and etc._ , but I'm basing this fanfic on the theory that while Logan is physically 196/197 years old at the start of the Logan movie, he is actually 252 years old mentally. So he remembers both of his lives for the most part. You can find the theory on YouTube by searching "logan movie timeline" and click on the one by "CineFix". Also, if any of you noticed in the Logan movie, there is a shot of a samurai sword in his bedroom at the smelt plant.


End file.
